One.

The three of us were sitting comfortably in the car en route to a favorite lunch spot. My aunt says, “Do you know of a boy named ______? He’s rooming with the boys…” I became unusually quiet as I tried to process the best response and instead came up with, “I know him (dramatic pause).” “What’s THAT mean?!” She implored, as my grandmother sat ahead, asking for the fiftieth time if we were sure she shouldn’t be turning yet on a road with virtually nowhere to turn. “Eh. I sort of went on a date with him. My friends fixed me up for prom. And he was horrid, but I’m thinking the boys should encounter a much different attitude from him…” I responded. She stared at me, waiting for me to go on. “He’s a guy. He had wishes about prom that I didn’t feel the need to fullfill and once he grasped this he became a big ass. See. They have nothing to worry about.”

Then, Grams pipes up, “Oh, Ashley. You always were too hard on those boys when you were younger.” Stunned, my aunt and I wait for her next poke. “I always thought you expected too much from them and were just too hard on the poor boys…”

My aunts eyes got as big as saucers as she looked from the front seat to the back, carefully watching for any expression changes on my face…and possibly for signs of an explosion. Was I just chastised for not having sex with a boy I didn’t know on prom night by MY GRAMS? Ohnoshedidn’t.

“Well Grams, sure I was picky about who I wanted to let in my pants…err…have sex with. I’m not a floozy.” I said.

Grams nearly swerves off the road as she tries to regain composure from the words “floozy” and “sex” used in the same sentence. She chokes on her words, also with eyes as big as saucers.

“Mom! She tried to tell you! She tried to say it nonchalantly…” My aunt piped up from the front seat.

“I didn’t hear that part…” My grams grumbled.

Two.

The room was dimly lit - which had more to do with the fact that only one of the 4 lightbulbs in the ceiling fan was actually working, and the slight ping of the rain against the glass doors was enough to lull me to sleep. My husband was in a rather frisky mood and I was in more of a … I’m-pregnant-and-I’d-rather-have-another-cookie-thank-you-much frame of mind. Lorelei, of course was engrossed in another episode of Veggie Tales and was busy tearing apart any book she could find.

My husband, unaware that his 18 month old daughter was watching, reached over to hug me and then grab my bottom. He wasn’t a cookie, nor was he offering one, so imagine his disappointment when I pushed him away. Besides, the kid was still up and can’t watch herself.

The toddler, after taking it all in for a moment, proceeded to march her way over to the couch and fluidly reach out to me…and grab my butt.

I can’t quite explain to you the amount of weird in that very moment.

My husband couldn’t control his uproarious laughter, and my daughter - not one to be left out of the moment, tilted her head back and cackled along with him in her toddler laugh.

 Three.

“Hey Mom,” I had said into the phone, “You know what I’m REALLY craving? Sushi! Do you think we could grab some when Lorelei and I come in for the weekend?”

“Well, I could take you to pick some up for takeout, but I’m not eating that shit,” she had replied.

Now, we were slowly making our way into the small Sushi restaurant that had just opened in town. “Look at all these stupid-sushi-eating people! The whole strip parking lot is full and this is the only place open! Stupid people!” My mother exclaimed, as she tried to find a parking spot.

“Oh, you have to try it just once. You can get sushi that’s been deep fried and cooked and stuff here, too. There has to be SOMETHING on the menu that you like,” I replied as we got out of the car and made our way into the sushi restaurant, my mother making gagging noises on her tongue.

“I’m not eating any of that damn sushi,” She whispered into my ear.

“Okay, fine. Look, they have other stuff too. Cooked stuff,” I said, pointing to the specials board that I couldn’t read.

More gagging noises from her.

(Fast forward to our plates coming out)

Mom eyes the sushi cautiously, just waiting for it jump up her nose and strangle out her insides. Or something.

“That’s sushi?” She asked.

“Yeh, what’d you think it was?”

“Well, I was picturing something like raw catfish and other meats just all in a bowl without the skin.”

I gagged a little.

“Try this, mom,” I said as I handed her a piece of the raw sushi.

She crinkled her nose but took a bite. Chew. Chew. Chew.

“Not bad, right?” I said.

She shrugged.

“Okay try this one…these two are cooked…” I said as I transferred some onto her plate.

More shrugging.

“Here’s your eel sauce!” The waitress said as she dropped off the dipping sauces.

Mom gags on her fried rice. “What is that? Eel blood? You want me to eat eel blood, you crazy girl!?!” She said to me.

I laughed. “I doubt it even has eel in it,” I said quietly, hoping nobody would overhear and correct me about a dead eel sauce.

(Update: After disecting the sushi pieces and explaining what each colored bit was (and which had been cooked or not), mother finally shoved the cooked variety on her plate. Turns out, she likes sushi. Just tell her it’s cooked. Even if it makes you a liar…)

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